


Mute

by Serazimei



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Communication, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Time is hard, Whump, at least a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29177037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serazimei/pseuds/Serazimei
Summary: After Daisy nearly cuts his throat open for accidently compelling her Jon is terrified of speaking. Maybe, maybe he would be better off without his voice?
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 24
Kudos: 179





	Mute

Jon had been terrified of Daisy since the day he met her. Granted her blowing the brains out of Mike Crew right in front of him and then making him dig his own grave didn't exactly help the matter. He could still feel the cold, vicious steel of her knife dragging across his skin. Not in his dreams, of course. His dreams didn't belong to his own terrors anymore. But in waking moments, when he was alone and his mind once again decided to swallow him up.

And she kept being terrifying. She was a hunter and he had been her prey, once upon a time. Still was, in a way. Only now he was prey she couldn't get to without hurting Basira and that made her angry, unpredictable, violent.

Jon was trying to leave his paranoia behind him, but that was hard when everyone else really did seem out to get him this time. Jon ran shaking fingers around the scar on his throat. They came away bloody. Not enough to be concerning. It was just a nick. A warning from Daisy that he wouldn't tolerate him compelling her again.

Breathing through the rising panic he rolled his sleeve over his hand and dapped at the wound with it. Another article of clothing ruined, but what else was new. Maybe he should ask Elias for a pay rise (As if he had the guts to do that). Or would work place insurance cover for cloth destruction? Probably not. It barely covered for body destruction, after all.

He should probably stand up and get his first aid kit, but he was still too shaken to even think about moving his legs. He doubted his feet would support him anyway. His body felt weak and light. His stomach had long since become a black void of twisting pain and his head... well it had better things to do than coordinate his useless limbs. Things like panicking and feeding him thoughts with knives that tried to cut away at the last bit of his selfconfidence. Not that he had had much of _that_ in the first place.

Jon just wanted it all to be over, but then who would stop the clown apocalypse? Who would try to stop Elias from terrorizing his co-workers? He still had so much to make up for. And he kept messing up.

It was getting harder and harder not to compell the others. Daisy had actually been the third one today. They were just small questions. "How did you sleep tonight?" or "How are you doing?". Seemingly innocent conversation starters that Jon tried to use to make dreaded small talk, because he desperately wanted that human connection and work place warmth back that had existed when Sasha had still been alive. Hah, how far he had come. Wanting to be social. A true miracle.

It was too late for that, though, wasn't it? All his attempts managed to do was piss people off. Because he couldn't keep the static out of his voice, not when there was already so much of it in his head.

Maybe if he could just keep quiet? Not talk at all? Would they calm down then? See he was making an effort and take him back? Not as a friend. Jon wasn't delusional. He had burned that bridge long ago. But as a co-worker. As a human. Or something close to it at least. Close enough to be... not hated.

Jon loathed that they watched him so warily while he struggled to not become a monster.

It didn't work. Of course it didn't. Melanie got mad when she asked him something in the break room and the only thing she got was a hum in response. Basira gave him a cold look and told him to grow up and communicate like an adult when he tried to get away with just nodding at her when she came by to discuss a statement with him. Tim... Well Tim ignored him anyway, but he could feel the ever brewing fury bubbling higher and higher the longer Jon refused to talk. And Martin started fussing immediately, worried that he was coming down with something and outright panicked when he noticed the shallow cut Daisy had left.

That was the moment an idea formed in his head. Right, people would get angry when he didn't talk when he could. But what if he couldn't? It was a stupid idea. A manic one, born from desperation and self loathing (and maybe he was also a bit delirious. God he was so _hungry_ ). And it was oh so enticing.

Jon mulled it over for days, tentatively starting to communicate with his co-workers again as he did. They had already grown suspicious of him, no need to rise their hackles any further.

The concept was always there now, in the back of his mind. A shining beacon of hope. A probable way out without leaving them all behind. It all sounded so perfect. If he couldn't speak he couldn't compel and he couldn't read statements. And if he couldn't read statements he would stop Becoming. Right? It was a logical conclusion. It had been the statements that started it all. The eyes were important, but so was the voice.

Mind made up the only thing he needed now was a plan. He couldn't just cut out his vocal cords. He'd probably accidently kill himself. But he could maim his tongue enough to not form words anymore.

It took about a week more until he was ready to do what he felt had to be done. He had decided to do this in the archives, in his office. It might not have been the safest place, but weirdly enough Jon felt comforted here. The archives, while a temple of fear to an entity that knew all your secrets, had become more Jons home than anywhere else. And the Eyes gaze had become... almost soothing over the past months. What that said about his state of being Jon didn't want to know.

So he stacked a few first aid kits in his office, made sure to have some towels nearby, but out of sight and kept his cellphone close at hand in case something went wrong and he had to call 911.

He waited until he couldn't hear his assistants milling about anymore. They never said goodbye to him these days. Only Martin did, usually accompanied by a small "Don't stay too long." He felt guilty to worry the man so. But hopefully after this there wouldn't be so much of that.

Jon had been fidgety and nervous the whole day. A strange mix of excitement and terror had been warring inside him. His self perservation instincts screamed at him not to do anything stupid. But the dark parts of him, the monster and the demon were much louder. The monster was curious. It wanted to see, to experience something new. It gorged itself on his fear, purring like a cat. And the demon told him it was penace, that the pain would be rightfully received. And the consequences wouldn't be his to bear. He would just pin it on Michael. The spiral was often seen lurking in the tunnels, occasionally popping up in the archives to give one of them a scare.

It would probably find the whole thing extremely funny.

Jon let out a shaky breath when he felt it was his time. Scratching absentmindedly at the worm scars on his arm he rolled his chair away from his desk and opened the drawer. He had sterilized the knife in there already, but he did so again just to make sure, wiping it down with some alcohol from the first aid kit. He was stalling, hands trembling too much to do anything much. He nearly knicked himself cleaning the blade.

Taking a few deep breaths he pulled his sweater over his head, no need ruining another article of clothing. Well here went nothing.

He had barely managed a shallow cut when the door to his office slammed open making him flinch.

"Hey boss-" The rant was cut short as soon as Tim took in the scene, trailing off into a litany of curses instead.

It was a good thing Jon had taken the knife out of his mouth, because in seconds Tim was upon him and wrenching it out of his grasp. The bloody thing was thrown into the next corner.

"FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! What the fuck?!" Tims voice rose a few pitches as he gripped Jons face and wrenched open his mouth to assess the damage.

He was shaking, whether out of repressed fury or because he was scared Jon wasn't sure. What he was sure off was that he was in pain and that the pain was too dull for the accidental deeper cut he had made when he had flinched at Tims entrance. Distantly he felt a thought being dropped into his mind.

_You are in shock._

Jon really wanted to show the Beholding the finger. But that would have probably pissed off Tim, who was already frantic enough.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?! Do you have- of fucking course. You planned for this!"

Tim snatched up one of the towels, grabbed the empty tea mug and the half empty bottle of water from the desk and shoved them into Jons hands.

"Drink that, gurgle and spit into the mug."

Jon gave a weak sound of protest, but Tim looked like he would forcefully insert the bottle into his mouth if he didn't get on with it, so he did as he was told. Rinsing hurt, his tongue still felt as though it was being stabbed. And holding the clean towel to it to stem the bleeding didn't help the pain.

While he sat there and waited Tim paced around the office, casting glares in Jons direction every few seconds. His jaw was clenched tight, muscles twitching as though he was fighting against saying something.

Jon... didn't have the energy to be afraid. He had been working himself up all day. Had been terrified and tied up in knots for so long now. This had been supposed to be his ritual for freedom. But Tim had found him. Tim had stopped him. And now he felt like a puppet with its strings cut. It felt a bit too much like some sort of deserved payback.

"We don't have a freezer in the breakroom so I guess no ice for you."

"Huh..."

It was still nice to be excused from not talking.

"Okay! I'll bite. What the hell were you thinking?!"

Or not. Jon watched warily as Tim stalked closer and sank down in the uncomfortable chair Jon used to frequent all day- Wait, when had he ended up on the floor? He tried to remember the sequences of events that had happened since he had taken out the knife from the drawer, but came up mostly blank. Beholding didn't deem it necessary to remind him either. It probably didn't want to reurgitate food.

Tim snapping his fingers in his direction dragged him out of his daze.

"Mmrg?"

"What. Have. You. Been. Thinking?"

"Iay-" Jon spit out some of the blood again and decided that if he had to have this conversation he'd rather do so without the towel in his mouth. "I wanted to be better?"

"Like this?"

Jon shrugged and haltingly tried to explain his reasoning. It had sounded so logical in his head. But Tim clearly thought something else. He looked pained. Although Jon had never been the best at reading people. And Tim had become a closed book with locks since Prentiss' attack.

"You thought you could stop your spooky monster powers from growing by cutting out your tongue?"

"Actually I thought maiming it would be enough." Fuck speaking hurt, but at least the blood flow had stopped.

"Right." Tim took a deep, shaky breath. "Right."

Jon shrugged, helpless, an apology already pressing against his lips. "The other idea had been to stab out the eyes..." It was the place of The Eye, after all. But Jon really hadn't wanted to blind himself just to test a theory.

"Fuck, Jon!"

"I'm sorry." The apology finally stumbled out, now that he had nothing else to explain. Another was already lining up, joining the dozens waiting eagerly behind it.

"No that's! Damn it why do you make me _do_ this?!"

"What?" He cringed at the question, hoping it was too vague to have been compulsion.

"Worry for you! When all I want to do is hate you in peace!"

Ah...

"I'm sorry..."

Tim let out a compressed scream and abruptly stood up, freezing only briefly when Jon flinched away from him. He took several deep breaths before crouching down and shuffling closer. Jon warily watched him reach for him, torn between scooting back against the wall and leaning into what might turn into comfort. 

In the end he stayed exactly where he was and let Tim do his thing, eyes tracking even the smallest of movements. And still he had no idea how he ended up in Tims arms, pressed gently against his chest.

Jon felt his scalp turn wet and realized with horror that Tim was crying. The sobs came soon after and he panicked. What was he supposed to do?! He wished Martin was here. Or... Sasha. He couldn't remember her, not really. But somehow he just _knew_ that she would have been able to help.

He barely noticed that his eyes had begun to leak as well, the sudden pang of loss the last stone that needed to be thrown to shatter his composure.

Sitting there, clinging to each other, both lost in their dark worlds, Jon had never felt so horrible before.

"I hate this!" Tim growled out between great heaving breaths. "I hate this place!" Another heartwrenching sob which Jon answered with his own quiet sniffle. "So, so much." Tim whispered, as though that last part was the secret that could make or break everything.

Jon nodded his head as much as he could given that his nose was squashed against Tims shoulder.

"And I hate you." As though Jon could ever forget. As though Tim would _let_ him. He stayed quiet, though. Let the stream of words wash over him. For once the only thing he was supposed to was listen and even if it hurt he was happy to do so. And there was a lot. Once Tim had started there was no end to the things he said. Everything came out in a disgusting tangle of words and curses. Danny's death, the nightmares after Prentiss, the betrayal he felt when Jon started to suspect him to be a murderer, when they had been friends before. The loneliness that came when Not-Sasha was revealed. The anger that filled the void that she left behind. It was three holes the rage filled now. Danny had been the hardest, Jon had hit somewhere Tim didn't even know he could be vulnerable and then there had been Sasha.

Jon hated that something in him purred at the raw trauma it was being fed.

"I don't think I can ever forgive you, either" Tim whispered into his hair at the end, voice rough from the strain. Jon could sympathize. "But... I... I'm so tired of being angry, you know? I just want it all to stop"

Jon made a noise that even he didn't know the meaning of.

"I just really need to be angry at _something_ , though. It's the only thing that keeps me going at this point... You know?"

He hummed and Tim sighed against him. "No you don't, you piece of shit." And maybe Jon was delusional, but that sounded almost fond. "You'd rather turn on yourself."

"Still anger."

Tim ran his hands up and down Jons back and he was seconds away from melting. Fear held him back, as always. If he moved only slightly Tim might realize what he was doing and draw back. And Jon so desperately wanted to prolong this weird parody of an embrace.

"Maybe. The semantics are debatable." Tims musings dragged him out of his spiral.

"Hrmph."

He was nudged away from his warm sanctuary with a snort and involuntarily had to make eye contact with its source.

"I guess talking isn't exactly pleasant at the moment, huh."

"Never is." Jon muttered, gaze drifting to the floor before snapping back up, his mind caught between wanting to hide and wanting to see.

"Yeah well suck it up. If you'd just talked to us more maybe we wouldn't be in this mess."

_Maybe Sasha would still be alive._ Tim didn't say. But Jon heard him loud and clear.

"You're right. I'm so-"

"No. I don't want to hear it. I swear your apologies are starting to trigger me. Just... I don't know..."

They both sat there in silence, looking and then not looking at the other, unsure what to do. Jon wanted this moment to mean something. But he still felt the rift between them, the situation was as shitty as ever and they hadn't changed in those short, long minutes they had spent crying in each others arms. Jon didn't feel any lighter either. Just tired. More tired than before.  
Tim seemed just as lost and when he stood up to leave Jon jerked into motion.

"Do you wanna go out for drinks sometime?"

He was blinked at for several moments before Tim seemed to comprehend what he had asked. "With you?"

"Well, yes."

"And what be all buddy, buddy again? Just like that?"

Jon was fast to shake his head. "No... No just, as you said, it's lonely and we need to communicate better."

"Jon, you're the worst drinker I know. Two shots and you'll turn into a clingy, giggly mess that goes off on tangents and can't hold a decent thought to save his life."

"Well then at least you'll have something to make fun of later."

Tim stared at him for a while. "I'll think about it. Go clean yourself up and don't do this kind of shit again. I'll see you tomorrow."

It was long after Tim closed the door that Jon moved, his joints screaming at him as he did. Eating and drinking wouldn't be fun for a while, his tongue felt like a blown up balloon with too many nerve endings that were all on fire. It throbbed, but at least he had still been able to somewhat use it to communicate. He wondered if he had to count that under new Archivist powers.

The next day Jon had a legitimate reason not to talk to anybody. Unfortunately Tim wouldn't let him lie about the incident and he got scolded at by everyone. Martin especially was mad at him and had immediately bought him a popsicle to help with the swelling.

Jon still felt that it had been worth it when he spied the little smirk playing on Tims lips as Jon was cursed to the moon and back by Melanie. It was still too sharp to be called warm or playful, but it was the first upward movement of Tims facial muscles in weeks.

Two days later, while he was reading through a statement in preparation for recording his phone flashed with a new message.

_Drinks? Now?_

Looking at the time told him it was still a bit too early to leave. With a small, hopeful smile he replied, stood and shrugged on his jacket. Might as well take some time off for all the overtime he had worked the last year.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written for this fandom and it's already the darkest shit I've ever written. I can't get enough of Tim and Jon hurt/comfort, so I thought I'd add to the pile. I'm still trying to find their voices though.


End file.
